


Where the Love Light Gleams

by svana_vrika



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Canon Timeline, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, College, Established Relationship, Iwatobi, Love, M/M, Nanase Haruka & Tachibana Makoto & Tokyo, Porn with Feelings, Shower Sex, Team All Japan Haru, Tenderness, makoharu - Freeform, mutual possessiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svana_vrika/pseuds/svana_vrika
Summary: Makoto and Haruka will always find each other. Even unexpectedly, in the dark.
Relationships: Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	Where the Love Light Gleams

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you! I hope you enjoy this bit of self indulgence between my two best boys as much as I did writing it! Work is unbetaed and MakoHaru is Love! ♥
> 
> (PS: I don't own them and won't make any money from them; I just love them and love to play with them! XD ♥)

It’s quiet. Quieter than Makoto thinks it’s ever been at home. But then, he’s never been here by himself for this long, and never for more than one night. Makoto chuckles softly to himself as he leans on the balcony railing. It’s a good thing he’s not quite the same scared boy he used to be. And truly, after the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, it’s nice; a good spacer between that, and reuniting with his family when they get home from Aomori tomorrow.

Makoto’s dad had won the trip in the lottery his company had run during the annual summer picnic they’ve held for as long as Makoto can remember. It had been a _huge_ deal for his family, because the grand prize had come with the company covering the days off for his dad and, save for their yearly camping trips, they’ve never really done a big vacation, never mind an all-expenses paid trip to someplace as posh as the Rockwood in Ajigasawa. The only drawback had been that, with his university commitments, Makoto couldn’t go. But once the twins had gotten over _that_ , well. They’ve been counting down the days ever since.

Makoto would have loved to have gone with his family, but he truly doesn’t begrudge the timing. He’s

glad that they can have this vacation of a lifetime before the twins end up being tied up with things like cram schools and university prep. Besides, for as beautiful as Aomori is rumored to be in the winter, Makoto doesn’t think there’s any way it could rival Iwatobi.

He just wishes that Haru could be there with him.

_Haru._ A soft, dreamy smile settles over Makoto’s lips. Nothing can rival him, either. He’s beautiful all the time, too; beneath the cherry blossoms, on the beach under the sun, crunching through the autumn leaves, surrounded by the falling snow. He’s stunning in the winter, Makoto thinks, with his smooth dark hair and those bright blue eyes, the way his fair cheeks pink whenever there’s a bite in the air. Makoto can’t wait until he’s back in Iwatobi with him—but then he chuckles a bit. It’s a romantic thought on paper, but in reality, it’ll be quite different. He figures that he and Haru will have a hard time getting away with even a kiss because his family will be home before Haru makes it there, and the twins will be clamoring for Haru’s attention. But he can’t fault them for that, nor does he resent it. Nothing fills his heart more than the knowledge that his family adores Haru, and vice versa.

And he’s so, _so_ glad that his family accepts _them._

_Them._ Eight months later, and the word still gives him a thrill. It’s something he’s wanted for forever. Even when they’d been small, he’d never wanted to be without his Haru-chan. They’d had their rocky points, as all friendships do, but even at the lowest, the worst, he hadn’t truly wanted to be without him, neither that day Haru had found him on the beach when they’d been boys, or that night during Obon their senior year.

Makoto shivers slightly, draws his jacket more closely around him as he gazes down, the hewn steps that climb up their mountain even more picturesque in the snow. He doesn’t like to think about either of those times, so he doesn’t. He turns his mind to the more pleasurable ones. _Those_ are countless, extending back as far as his mind will reach, and not for the first time he thinks of just how fortunate he is. He already has a lifetime of memories with the love of his life, his soulmate, and that’s something he knows that very, _very_ few people can say.

God, he misses him. But some things just can’t be helped. Even if it would have been their first Christmas Eve as a couple.

Makoto and Haru had learned even before they’d realized they were _in_ love that love itself isn’t always perfect, happy, gentle. It means ups and downs, sometimes harshness and disappointments, the truest loves anyway. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. And, when your boyfriend is one of the top freestyle swimmers in Japan with three different coaches to keep happy, well. Makoto and Haruka are used to sacrificing their time together already.

Maybe that’s why they were given so much of it before they became romantically involved, Makoto muses pensively. Because, truthfully, they have a lot of the harder stuff out of the way that most couples face early on. They know each other, flaws and all; they’ve fought, and horribly, and have come back together. They’re stable, strong, know that the sacrifice and separation won’t break them, even as young as they are.

It's an interesting thought, but far too serious of one to be having at the moment, Makoto thinks. It’s a heavy one; not in a bad way, mind, but it’s late and he’s alone, and he didn’t come out to watch the snow just to get lost in his head and have to deal with himself until he’s finally able to fall asleep. He’s in Iwatobi, Haru’s in Tokyo for another two days, and that’s that. They’ve had it worse; have definitely been parted longer. So, Makoto lets it go, best as he can, anyway—Haru’s _always_ in his heart and thoughts—and he turns his focus outward again, to everything he’s missed about Iwatobi in the winter; the crisp, briny air, the inky black sky, how the snow looks falling from it, the cozy cottages, the blanket of white, the soft, hissing sound of the ocean beneath it all.

There truly is no place like it, and Makoto knows that, one day, when Haru has taken all the gold he wants and is ready to just be, ready to turn his focus to art, or cooking, or crafting, or any one of the other things his boyfriend is absolutely brilliant at, he and Haru will return, and to their mountain, beneath the shrine. That’s what his heart tells him, anyway, and he doesn’t know how it knows, but it does, so he trusts it. After all, it’s always told him that he and Haru were meant for each other, that they would be together, and it never wavered, despite some of the darker times they’d shared, so.

Makoto huffs a soft laugh to the sky, it showing in a gentle puff of white. And like that, he’s back to Haru again. He really is hopeless, he thinks with an amused shake of his head, but he always has been when it’s come to Haru, so there’s no sense on bemoaning that, either. Smiling a bit now, he watches the flakes for another few seconds, until a gust comes down from the shrine; with a shiver, he turns to head in, and then he pauses. Something’s caught his attention just from the corner of his eye and, narrowing his gaze to peer through the darkness and snow, he turns back. After a moment, he gasps, eyes wide, and he turns and rushes back inside and then down the stairs. He’s seen that shadow on the steps enough times to know exactly who it is, and he’s out the door before he knows it.

The light shifts just a bit through the snow and Haruka glances up. His eyes briefly widen and his steps falter when he sees the source of it. Someone’s opened the Tachibana’s door. Makoto. It has to be, because the others are away. But it’s _ridiculously_ late and Makoto hadn’t been expecting him until the day after tomorrow, so—Haruka softly snorts and gives a single shake of his head. He doesn’t even have to ask how. _It’s Makoto._ And Haruka and Makoto will always find their way to each other. Even unexpectedly, in the dark.

Haruka feels Makoto’s approach seconds before he actually sees the shape of him, and it’s enough to set him to shivering. His lips press. It’s like his body knows that he’s finally home and safe and it’s already started to drop the walls he’s held up to keep the cold and tiredness and exhaustion away. It’s a fight to keep his arms from wrapping around himself now, but he does manage that much, at least. He hadn’t planned on this—his objective had been to slip into his house and surprise Makoto early with breakfast Christmas morning—but now that the secret’s out, the last thing he wants is to spend the evening with Makoto fretting about Haruka being sick, and he quietly gives thanks that he’d thought to grab his earmuffs and gloves for the walk from the village. He always _will_ forget the infernal scarf, but hopefully he’s done enough to keep Makoto from mother henning _too_ much.

Though Haruka will admit, _to himself_ , that he’ll gladly take Makoto’s doting tonight; he just doesn’t want the sort that involves thermometers and hot water bottles, thank you very much. The past twenty-four hours have been… trying.

“Haru.”

The whisper reaches him a few seconds before Makoto does himself, and he looks up at _just_ about the time Makoto’s hands find his face. “Makoto.”

Makoto doesn’t know where to start. It’s pitch black, it’s near midnight, it’s _freezing,_ how did you get here, what happened… a million exclamations and questions are rushing through his mind, but as soon as he hears the murmur of his name, sees into Haru’s eyes, he realizes there’s only one thing, really, _to_ say. “C’mon, Haru-chan,” he murmurs, thumbs caressing Haruka’s chilled cheeks before he drops his hands to take Haru’s bag and interlace their fingers. He’s _so glad_ Haruka has gloves and earmuffs that he can forgive the absence of the scarf. “Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.” Everything else can wait for a bit, he decides.

Whatever Makoto sees in his eyes calms the flurry of thoughts in Makoto’s. Worry is still there, and curiosity, but they’re overshadowed by love and warmth that Haruka can feel through the thumbs that brush his cheekbones. He closes his eyes, opening them again when Makoto takes his hand, and he softly hums his assent, leans into Makoto a bit as he leads them back to the house. Haruka glances up the steps toward his own. He loves his home, but he’s suddenly very glad that Makoto had found him. It’s been shut since Obon, would be dark, cold, empty. And, he realizes, he simply can’t fathom dealing with that right now. He craves his boyfriend’s love, light and warmth so strongly that he can’t be disappointed at all over his ruined surprise, despite how it had kept him going for the past several hours.

It doesn’t take Makoto but a handful of seconds to get Haru into the genkan. He slides the door closed, turns to his boyfriend, and his heart about melts for how cute Haru looks with his pinked cheeks and earmuffs and snow clinging to his eyelashes and hair. His eyes are tired, though, and what Makoto sees isn’t from the long day of travel and the walk. Haru is emotionally worn, too, and a protectiveness rises to edge the tenderness. Haru is glad to be home, to be with him, Makoto sees that, too. But, whatever had brought Haru to Iwatobi two days early had taken a toll on him.

Makoto is onto him, Haruka can tell. There’s a specific light that settles into Makoto’s eyes when those protective gears start turning, a subtle shift to the green. How it makes Haruka feel depends on how he’s feeling when it happens; anywhere on a spectrum ranging from pleasure to guilt and, on rare occasion, frustration. Tonight, he welcomes it. Welcomes the reminder that he’s valued and loved, wanted. That he’s more than stroke mechanics, training regimens, nutritional plans; more than the four digits that refuse to budge no matter what he does.

“Haru.” Haruka blinks, tips his head to look up at Makoto, who smiles at him. “Let’s get your outside stuff off and get you into the bath.” It’s said more than asked, but Haruka nods anyway, lets Makoto slide his earmuffs off, then his gloves, lets him tend to unfastening his coat, though he does pink a bit when Makoto kisses the tip of his nose as he does so.

Makoto notes how Haru is letting him coddle without fuss, without even a muttered _embarrassing,_ and his heart aches softly even as that sense of protectiveness flares to burn a little more hotly at his core. He keeps his touches, his expression, soft and gentle, though—whatever it is that’s weighing on Haru, Makoto doesn’t want to add _anything_ to it—and, as soon as he’s got their coats hung up and Haru’s bag tucked out of the way for later, he draws Haru into a hug, kisses the top of his head, his temple, then eases back just enough to encourage Haru’s eyes up to his own. “I must have been a really good boy this year,” he says with a grin. “I was just wishing I had my Haru-chan with me for Christmas, and well, Santa-san, he brought you right to me.”

Haruka sighs quietly when he feels Makoto’s arms come around him. He relaxes into him, hands slipping around to find Makoto’s broad shoulders, lets his eyes fall shut as he feels the press of those lips to his head. A gentle hand encourages his head back up and he heeds it, breathes Makoto’s name at the love and devotion, the joy over him just _being there_ that he sees in those pretty eyes and hears in the whimsical words. It’s _just exactly_ what he’s needed and, when Makoto kisses him after, Haruka _melts,_ fingers gripping the soft, thick material of Makoto’s hoodie as he parts his lips, welcomes the warm, gentle sweep of Makoto’s tongue, the sweetness of his taste.

Makoto feels the surrender, _understands_ it, what Haru’s seeking through it. His hands shift, one slipping up to cup the back of Haru’s head as the other moves down to palm over his ass as he pulls Haru even closer. He lets a soft growl slip into their kiss at the feel of Haru’s body, strong, well-muscled, yet still slender and elegant, against his own. The dichotomy does something to him _every time_ , how wholly masculine Haru is, yet deliciously curved, with his soft voice and delicate features. He’d done his best to not give into that draw before they’d gotten together, but one can’t control their dreams, and even now his cheeks warm as he recalls them. But he doesn’t have to dream anymore. Haru is his to have, as was always meant to be, just as he is Haru’s. It’s Christmas Eve, a day meant for lovers; Haru’s in Iwatobi, in his arms, and they’re alone. With another low, throaty sound, he runs the hand from Haruka’s hair down to join the other at his ass and hitches him that much closer. Makoto hasn’t forgotten that there’s a _why_ to it all, but Haru needs this, needs _him_ , right now. The why can wait.

Haruka’s fingers grip tighter when he feels Makoto’s hands shift, one cupping the back of his head like he’s precious, the other roving over his ass like it’s _his._ It takes his breath away, makes his heart skip, how Makoto is the perfect balance, gentle and strong, sweet and stern, caring and possessive. It’s never made him feel captive, the latter, only ever loved and wanted, free, because he knows he _can_ be himself, Nanase Haruka, with his many flaws and quirks, that he’s loved for them, wholly and unconditionally. Besides, it’s reciprocal. Makoto is wholly his and his alone, and Haruka is much more obvious about it, partially because he can’t help it, but also because he loves what it does to Makoto when his possessiveness shows, the faint color that rises, the demure glances he gets; the way Makoto laughs when Haruka hurries them to whichever apartment is closest because he _just can’t wait_ to give into it.

That’s not where he is tonight, though. Tonight, he just needs. Haruka lowly groans when he feels both of those hands on his ass, pulling his hips up enough to where he can feel the line of Makoto’s firming erection. And Makoto, bless him, is reading him perfectly, as always.

Haru’s groan sends a shiver of pleasure through Makoto and, after another languid stroke to the roof of Haru’s mouth, Makoto eases back, pausing to lightly suck at Haru’s lower lip before breaking the kiss completely. “Hungry?” he makes himself ask, and when Haru shakes his head, he smiles, nuzzling Haru’s nose even as he squeezes the firm flesh beneath his hands. “Let’s get you in the bath, and then bed, then.” He pecks Haru’s lips, then straightens, grabbing his bag and taking his hand once they’ve taken off their shoes.

Haruka lets Makoto lead him to the bathroom, gets the tub and shower started and then starts to undress as Makoto diverts to his bedroom. As soon as he’s back, Makoto reaches for him; Haruka drops his sweatshirt and comes in close, lets Makoto have his mouth again as Makoto opens his belt and jeans, eases everything down past his hips. Using Makoto for support, Haruka steps out of his clothing, shivers at the sound Makoto makes as his hands find his flesh, roving from his shoulders to his ass again. “Get under the water,” Makoto mumbles against his mouth and Haruka nods, does as he’s told, then blatantly watches Makoto as _he_ undresses.

He’s gorgeous, Makoto, from head to toe, and Haruka’s fingers lightly curl as he recalls the first time that they’d been naked together. Makoto’s ears had been pinked, but his kisses and touches had shown _no_ hesitation or shyness, even though they’d been each other’s firsts. All he’d asked was for Haruka to tell him what felt good, and he’d not even needed words for that. He thinks Makoto and he had been born with the latent knowledge on where, how, to touch and pleasure each other, and Haruka’s body, the sounds he’d not been able to help, had communicated for him.

Makoto feels Haru watching him and his body warms; pushing a hand through his hair after he tugs off his hoodie, he finds and holds Haru’s gaze for the few seconds it takes to step out of his sweats and tug off his socks. He joins him in the shower then, promptly pulling him close, both hands cupping Haru’s cheeks. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, drinking in the sight of Haru in his true element, how the water clings to his lashes and highlights the elegant lines of his face, and then he tips him up to kiss him deep again.

Once they part, Makoto takes his hand, tugs at him as he sits on the stool, and his eyes lid slightly as Haruka comes and settles onto his thighs in a straddle. “Perfect,” he praises as he runs his hands up Haru’s sides, leans forward to place a kiss to his heart, then another to that nipple as his hands stroke back down and in toward the small of his back.

Haruka’s warmed, half hard, from watching Makoto, from his compliment, from his kiss, and he gets harder as he settles over Makoto’s thighs. They’re strong beneath him and the straddle opens him up; his cheeks flush as he feels his hole pulse beneath Makoto’s praise, his touches. “Makoto,” he breathes when he feels those lips to his heart, and as Makoto teases across his chest, he buries his hands in Makoto’s hair and arches forward, rolling his gaze downward to peek at their cocks as they meet and rub together. “Makoto,” he murmurs again, tugging softly this time, and Makoto smiles, he can feel it against his chest. Haruka’s throat closes slightly with it, lips parting in anticipation, and when one of Makoto’s hands shift to run a thick finger through his crack, he shudders and groans a “Please.”

“Shh.” Makoto kisses his lips, sucks at his tongue, lightly presses his teeth to it. He’s leaking already, but Haru’s always done that to him. Haru knows it, too, and it’s Makoto’s turn to groan when slender fingers find his tip to tease more from him. Makoto watches, then follows Haru’s hand up, licking his lips and blindly reaching for the small bottle of lube he’d grabbed as he watches Haru slide those fingers into his mouth to suck his taste from them. As soon as his hand drops, Makoto leans forward to lick it right back out of him as he strokes over Haru’s hole again, and then he pulls back to lube his fingers, shivering and letting a soft, “Fuck,” slip past his lips as Haru’s hand finds his dick again. 

Haruka shivers at the curse. It’s something Makoto only ever does when they’re like this, and it’s another one of those dichotomies about his boyfriend that turns him on so; something so crude coming from that same set of lips that speak and smile so gently most of the time. He likes it, too, because _he_ does this to him, pulls him past all those barriers to that point.

Makoto drops the bottle, reaches over to shut off the tub and then takes his lips again; Haruka opens for him, both his mouth and by pushing his ass back against Makoto’s thighs a bit. Makoto parts his own legs and Haruka _groans_ at the stretch it pulls him into, and then again when a finger breaches him. They tease at each other’s mouths and tongues while Makoto fingers him soft and open until he can thrust to his base knuckle. “More,” Haruka breathes as he pushes back onto it, “Makoto, _more!”_ Makoto bites his lower lip in exchange for his greed, but does as Haruka asks and, next time he’s stuffed, it’s with two fingers instead of the one.

Haru cries out when he’s pushed into, but Makoto knows the sound; there’s no pain to it, just pleasure. He pulls back to watch his love, to see the flush in his cheeks, how he’s panting, how his eyes are near black from want; the way the water sluices through his hair, down his face, his heaving chest and abdomen. He follows the trail down to Haru’s dick, so hard and flushed with need, and all Makoto can think about is sucking the shower water from it, finding Haru’s taste beneath, making him come. “Stand up, Haru-chan,” he murmurs huskily as he eases his fingers free, and Haru blinks as if dazed, but then nods. “Hands against the wall,” Makoto says once he’s standing, and then he breathes a “Good,” as he complies, shifts a bit himself and then pushes his fingers back into Haru’s ass as he swallows his cock down.

Haruka _shouts_ when he’s breached and swallowed all at once, and his knees about give out, but Makoto grips his hip with his free hand, helps to steady him. They meet gazes, Haruka’s completely blown, Makoto’s hazed with pleasure and greed, and Haruka has the fleeting thought that Makoto’s mouth was made for his cock before Makoto starts to thrust and suck and his mind completely blanks to everything but pleasure. It’s physical, yes, and Haruka knows that he’s not going to last long at all, not like this, with Makoto’s long thick fingers filling him, deliberately flirting with his prostate, and his perfect mouth sucking and swallowing him. But it’s also what he’d seen in Makoto’s eyes, feels behind everything he’s doing, Makoto’s want and need. It’s all for him, every bit of it, _only_ for him, just like Makoto himself is.

The way Haru shouts for him tightens Makoto’s gut and his dick jerks, spilling more pre-come. He grips Haru’s waist when he feels him start to buckle, and then lets his own pleasure take over. Haruka’s ass is so snug and warm, his cock the perfect size for his throat; Makoto loves to fuck Haru, loves when Haru fucks him, but there’s something sinfully intimate about moments like this. He’s in Haru and Haru’s in him, there is no start and end to them.

Haru’s panting now, hips rocking between Makoto’s fingers and face, soft, sweet grunts escaping on his exhales. He’s close, Makoto knows, and when those grunts shift to low, broken cries, he feels his own balls grow tight. Closing his eyes and relaxing his jaw, he dips his head forward, swallows Haru down again as he slips a third finger into him. He just gives him the tip, but the extra bit of fullness and stretch is all Haru needs, and he comes with a wordless shout that bounces from the walls. Makoto _hurts_ , it makes him that hard, but he sees Haruka through, easing the third finger free so that he can push deep with the two and milk his prostate until Haru shivers and whines and grips at his shoulder, wordlessly pleading with him to stop.

Pleasure sings through Haruka’s veins, his mind, making it hard to see or hear, _impossible_ to think. His whole world has become Makoto’s fingers and mouth, and it’s perfect, _so_ perfect. He starts to fuck himself back before pushing into Makoto’s throat, quickly bringing himself to the edge, and then Makoto takes him over by stretching his rim with a third finger and _everything_ blanks out, until the sensations wracking his body shift more toward pain. Makoto reads him perfectly though, as always, stops before Haruka has to beg, slips his fingers free then gently guides him down to his lap again. Haruka’s eyes fall closed as he slumps bonelessly against him and, for a moment or two, he just breathes, then he opens his eyes, pushes back a bit to lick his taste from Makoto’s lips and then deep in his mouth, to swallow Makoto’s grunts and soft moans as Makoto jerks himself off.

Haruka can tell when Makoto is getting close as his mouth goes slack against his own. He eases back from the kiss, then pushes back a bit more to shift to the floor. Makoto curses, roughly this time, realizing Haruka’s intent, and he parts his legs for him. Stroking his fingers along Makoto’s taut, inner thighs, Haruka scoots forward a bit, opens his mouth as Makoto tips his cock; he slips his lips around Makoto’s head, teases at the ridge with his tongue and then starts to suck. He’s totally spent, and on every level, but he still moans for Makoto’s taste, sucks greedily as more of it drips on his tongue. Makoto calls for him, his strokes becoming rougher; one knocks his chin, but Haruka just sucks harder and, after teasing over Makoto’s smooth, hot sac with his fingers, he pushes behind it with his thumb, then groans again when Makoto shouts and his come coats his mouth and tongue.

Makoto about loses it when Haru kneels between his knees and he sees the tip of his thick cock slide into Haru’s small mouth. Haru moans around him like he _needs_ him and Makoto’s all too willing to give; he’d never deny Haru anything. He strokes and Haru sucks, quickly bringing him to the edge, and then Haru finds that spot behind his balls; Makoto’s eyes close from how hard he comes, but he forces them open again, jerking himself off the last few strokes to the sight of Haru swallowing him down with such a look of contentment that Makoto groans again. Breathlessly, he reaches for him when he’s done, draws Haru onto his lap again, then holds him close, stroking through his hair and down his back, occasionally kissing at his neck, until the shower water starts to feel a little cool.

Haruka sighs softly at the sensation; he’s always loved the cooler water, but he knows that Makoto prefers the warmer, so he eases back, grabs the shampoo bottle. After pouring some into Makoto’s hand, he does the same for himself, and they trade kisses, occasionally nuzzle noses as they quickly shampoo each other. Once they’re done, they stand to rinse, wash and rinse, and then finally, they climb into the tub, Makoto settling with his back against the end, Haruka between his legs, back to chest. There’s nothing sexual about this at all, but it’s just as perfect, as intimate, to Haruka; he’s still spent, but he feels whole and healed as well. And, finally, ready to talk. “Makoto.”

“Hm?” Makoto presses a kiss to the back of his head.

“I’m sorry. For not telling you I was coming early.” He feels Makoto nod, feels a gentle squeeze around his waist. “Azuma cut me loose early,” he shares quietly. “My time just won’t improve. That’s not why,” he says quickly when he feels Makoto tense indignantly behind him. “He sent me home because _I_ was becoming too fixated on it. Said I needed to step away for a bit before I hit a wall and slid backward.”

“And the other coaches?” Makoto lightly strokes his stomach, kisses his shoulder, and Haruka sighs, relaxes back further.

“They agreed. They sent me away with no regimen or anything. Told me they didn’t want me thinking about times or training ‘til we got back after the new year. They don’t want Japan’s upcoming star to burn out before he reaches his summit,” he says with a soft snort as he shifts so he can half-curl against Makoto’s chest. “Anyway, as soon as they told me, I decided I was coming home.”

_To you,_ Makoto hears, and he presses a kiss to Haru’s head as he strokes Haru’s along Haru’s hip. Haru’s really just only started walking this path, and Makoto knows that he can do it. He’ll be an Olympian, Makoto believes that; he’ll bring home gold for Japan, even _if_ his main purpose in chasing the global dream is so that he can keep swimming. Actually, it’s because of that connection to swimming itself, to the water, that Makoto knows his Haru will succeed. But nobody understands that, understands how Haru’s mind and psyche work, like he does. “Did they say specifically that you had to stay out of the water?” he asks, knowing that it’s what Haru had _heard,_ just as he probably twisted the _star_ comment into more than what had actually been there.

Haru’s fear of hurting people that he cares about, of letting them down, rivals his own, after all, and it would have been augmented by Haru’s growing doubt in himself.

“No,” Haru says quietly, idly stroking over Makoto’s chest, and Makoto nods.

“I’m glad they sent you home, Haru-chan.” He smiles when Haru looks up at him in surprise. “Hear me out?” he asks, and he thanks Haru with a soft kiss when Haru nods. “I think you’ve been pushing and improving since you made the team and, now that your numbers aren’t changing as much—”

“—at all,” Haru mumbles and Makoto hums to acknowledge.

“That’s normal, you know,” he briefly diverts to remind. “Just because your time isn’t dropping doesn’t mean you’ve hit a slump.”

“That’s what Azuma said.”

Makoto chuckles softly; he can hear Haru’s pout in his voice. “Well, he’s right. And you know that, Haru-chan. But anyway, I think you’re focusing so much on the numbers because you don’t want to fail, yes, but also because of the people you think you’ll let down.”

Haruka looks up again, brow furrowing. “I only swim free,” he reminds, and Makoto smiles softly, lightly kisses him again.

“I know. But this isn’t just about that anymore, is it. It’s about your dream, one you struggled to find. It’s about being on that stage with your friends. It’s about wanting the relay spot with them. Trials for the relay teams start with the new semester, ne?”

Haruka’s eyes widen slightly as he listens, fingers curling against Makoto’s chest, and then he closes them, softly sighs as he dips his head downward. That’s it, exactly; everything he’s been feeling, the _why_ behind the enormous pressure inside to be the fastest and strongest, to be unshakable. It had been bad enough when he’d disappointed his team and his coaches, _himself_ , with his prior losses. He’s swimming on a whole new level now, and he _has_ been weighing himself down in determination to not let anything rob him of a win again, of reaching his dream, sharing it with his friends.

Makoto watches him tenderly for a moment or two, then presses a kiss to the top of his head again. “It’ll be okay, Haru-chan,” he murmurs, stroking his cheek to get him to look up again. “We’re _home,_ with ten whole days before we go back. We’ll take walks on the beach, see Nagisa and Rei, and we still have our keys to the swim club. The water loves you, Haru-chan, and you have a connection to it like nobody else. I believe that. Being home, away from all the coaching and competition, being in the water again for the sake of just being in it, it’s just what you need to remind you of that, I think. And then you can let go of those worries and go back to Tokyo in a much better place. You’ll see.” 

Haruka doesn’t look away as Makoto talks, but he’s not really seeing _him_ , either. What he does is the pure, honest love and belief shining in Makoto’s eyes, and not for the first time, he silently thanks whoever is listening that he has this boy who sees, understands him, like nobody else ever has and ever will. He nods, tips his head up a bit further, and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he says as they meet gazes again, and Makoto _smiles,_ lightly touches his cheek.

“I love Haru-chan, too.” He lightly runs a thumb over Haru’s lower lip, kisses him again, deep and sweet, then pulls away. “Let’s go to bed, ne? And tomorrow, we can sleep in, do whatever Haru wants before the twins come home and steal you from me,” he says with a mock pout and sigh that make Haru huff softly in laughter.

“Idiot. They’ll fly at you first, and you know it.” Haruka kisses Makoto again, then pulls away to allow for a yawn, which makes Makoto laugh in turn.

“C’mon,” he says with a light slap to Haruka’s thighs, and Haruka stands, offers Makoto his hand. Makoto takes it with a grin, lightly kisses Haru’s nose, softly laughs when Haru turns his head with a muttered, “Embarrassing.” The sound pulls a soft smile to Haruka’s lips, one that stays as he tosses Makoto a towel; he laughs when it hits him in the face and Makoto whines about how mean he is. It’s the most normal he’s felt in he can’t recall how long, he realizes, and part of it has something to do with being home, he knows that. But most of it has to do with the weight that’s been lifted from him, with the reminder that he’s more than just statistics and a swimmer, that he’s loved and accepted unconditionally by the water and Makoto, both.

As they leave the bathroom, Haruka catches sight of some boxes neatly stacked outside the stairwell cupboard. It’s the Christmas tree and ornaments for when the kids get home; he recognizes them. Haruka smiles again, reaches forward, hooks his fingers through Makoto’s as they pad naked up the stairs to Makoto’s room. He remembers the meanings behind the angels and stars he knows are in the ornament box from making them in elementary school, and he gently squeezes Makoto’s hand. He has his miracle too, this living, breathing one that walks beside him, one that shines brighter than any angel or star ever could. Haruka laughs softly under his breath at the whimsical thought that his arduous journey on Christmas eve _had_ led him to his savior in the end, but when Makoto pauses in the doorway and softly calls his name, he merely shakes his head, turns and slips his free hand up to caress, then cup his boyfriend’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Makoto,” he murmurs before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

Makoto smiles softly, entranced by the light he sees shining in Haruka’s eyes, and he rests his forehead against his boyfriend’s. “Merry Christmas, Haru.”


End file.
